Our first Saturday in Paris, we headed out to the periphery rather than in to the centre, to the flea markets around Porte de Clignancourt. Bus 85. A false start. We went the wrong way, to Luxembourg rather than Mairie de St.-Ouen. Discovering our mistake early, we hopped off

The day in question brings the night into question as well. It all starts at 19:57 on Gleis 8 – not to be mistaken with Gleis 7 – of Berlin’s Hauptbahnhof – the most expensive building the city’s forked out for recently – … when, after a rushed Pizza Hut mozzarellarama, and

I’m sitting in a second-class sleeping compartment drinking red wine looking forward to leaving the train in Mannheim. It was supposed to be first-class. A sleeping compartment but one with washing facilities, more space, better. It was supposed to be white wine but the bottle fooled me. From Kaiser’

German ringing in my head, voices clamouring to be heard, after going to the theatre last night. We bought Tageskarten, day passes, to the transport system, allowing us to train-hop, tram-hop anywhere in the city, and in the morning made our way by U8, U2, U6, to Hallesches Tor, the

A late start. We walk to Senefelderplatz U-bahn. Take the number 2 to Alexanderplatz. Cross underneath the station and directly below the Fernsehturm join – at the very last moment – the Fat Tire Bike Tour. There are 22 in our group. A Belgian couple, a Brazilian, an Indian, one or two

W. is of the opinion that the re-unification of Germany after 1989 was a conquest and that the BRD claimed the conqueror’s or (Realpolitik) victor’s prerogative of rewriting history. This to explain the missing years. Arriving at the Sony Centre after a brief jaunt down to the Spree